


Blue

by fhsa_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Discipline, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-12
Updated: 2004-08-12
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Sometimes trying to make a threesome work is as hard as juggling eggs with greasy fingers.





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Spoilers: The story is set post X-files so assume everything except the events of Existence since I'm in denial. 

 

 

It was Saturday, usually my favorite day of the week, and I couldn't decide whether I was in fair mood or foul. I was doing a `Mulder', mentally check-listing the pros and cons while ostensibly reading the paper and shovelling slightly singed egg into my mouth. 

 

That was con number one; Fox had cooked breakfast. 

 

To be fair, it should have been listed as a pro given that Fox hated cooking and had obviously made a special effort on my behalf. Still, given the fact that I was thereby forced to make appreciative slurping noises as I manfully swallowed food that even a pound-dog would have turned its nose up at, it was hard to remember that it was supposed to be the thought that counted. 

 

Con number two; Walter wasn't sharing the culinary delight. 

 

Walter was halfway across the continent no doubt breakfasting in style at the hotel he'd been staying in all week. The hotel he had *promised* to vacate on Friday. 

 

Con number three; Walter had *lied*. 

 

Okay, it wasn't his fault. He hadn't wanted to go to Louisiana in the first place and he certainly hadn't wanted to stay down there over the weekend. On his numerous telephone calls to us through the week he'd made it clear that he was being eaten alive by an infestation of mosquitoes, that the local police were a bunch of incompetent, possibly interbred, morons and that he'd never expected Doggett to do a Mulder and ruffle feathers that apparently only Walter could soothe. 

 

Doing a Mulder seems to be catching around here. 

 

Pro number one (or two if you count the inedible breakfast), I'd had said Mulder all to myself for five whole days and now we had two entire work free days to tumble together in a bed designed for three. 

 

Which, to be fair, was kind of a con too. There is a *reason* the bed is big enough for three. 

 

 

I missed him. 

 

Actually, it was pretty frightening just how much I realised that I *did* miss Walter. 

 

I hadn't expected to. After three months together, I'd been pretty damned pleased to find out that he was going away. It wasn't that I was unhappy with the way our lives had come together and I was realistic enough to face the fact that without his inclusion into our relationship Fox and I probably wouldn't even still be together. 

 

Only...well, in some ways Fox and I *weren't* together anymore and I'd stupidly hoped that Walter's temporary absence would give us a chance to mend the gaping fissures in our own relationship. 

 

We weren't Fox and Alex. We weren't a couple anymore. We were a threesome, a triad, a triangle and Walter was the glue that held our unholy trinity together. Walter had become the filling in our sandwich and without him we were just two lonely pieces of bread without anything to adhere us to each other. 

 

Walter and Alex worked. Walter and Fox worked. Walter, Alex *and* Fox worked. Where we fell apart was in the Alex and Fox department. 

 

I was finally facing the fact that Fox didn't *really* love me. 

 

Shit. I knew that. I'd always known that. I'd just thrown myself at him regardless in the desperate hope that my love and his lust would be enough to keep us together. 

 

Three months before, I had stupidly imagined that if Fox could just get past his habit of smacking me across the face for every real or imagined sin I'd every committed against him that he'd stop fighting his physical desire for me and accept that his lust for my body could be the first building block of love. I thought that if he could just put the anger behind him, we'd both wander off into the sunset together hand in hand like a couple in some fairy-tale romance. 

Three months later, I'd finally come to the realisation that fairy tales were full of shit. 

 

Fox didn't hit me anymore. He hadn't laid a finger on me in anger since the night Walter had pulled down his jeans and spanked him in front of me. 

 

So Fox hated me for *that* too. 

 

Not that he actually ever came out and said anything about that night to me and I couldn't bring it up without having *my* ass reddened for mentioning something that Fox had been punished and forgiven for. 

 

That was the rule in our household. 

 

You do wrong, you get punished, and it's over. 

 

Only it wasn't over. Not for Fox. Despite the fact that in bringing Walter to this house I gave Fox the one person he's ever truly loved, Fox couldn't forgive me for the insult to his pride that night. 

 

It wasn't really even the bare-assed spanking that he couldn't forgive me for. It was the fact that if he hadn't agreed to it, Walter was prepared to take me home instead of *him*. 

 

He forgave Walter though. Walter pissed silver and shit gold in Fox's eyes. 

And Walter? 

 

Fuck, he felt the same way about Fox. 

 

Sometimes I wondered why the hell I was even trying to hold onto the coattails of the Fox and Walter waltz of true love. 

 

I was becoming pretty damned sure I knew why they kept me though. 

 

I was a good sub. I knew my place in our triangle. On the bottom. 

 

Alex the bottom. 

 

Fox was *always* in the middle. Me? I was just his mattress, the place to warm his cock while Walter pounded his ass. 

 

Funnily enough, I never even realised that until the first night Walter was away and Fox automatically assumed I'd be his ever-ready fuckee. 

 

It made me stop and think. It made me finally realise that in subbing to Walter I'd automatically subbed completely to Fox too. How the hell did that happen without me even realising? 

 

I'd thought...shit; I'd thought that Fox and I were both equal partners in our relationship. I'd seen us both as Walter's `boys'. I'd been happy. Okay, sometimes I'd been a little jealous. It had been hard accepting that the only way I could keep Fox was by giving him to Walter but, since I'd given *myself* to Walter too, I'd come to terms with our new lives together. Walter grounded me, protected me, and made me feel `safe'. In accepting me as *his*, he made me feel valued. Even though I *knew* I was just an unexpected bonus prize for him, I was so fucking grateful that he wanted me and Fox that I just fell head over heels for him like a love-sick puppy. 

 

But sometimes I missed being Fox's only lover. Sometimes I resented Walter in our bed as much as I welcomed him. Sometimes I felt like I was just a visitor in *their* bed. 

 

So I'd wanted a little time alone with Fox. I wanted to finally experience what it felt like to be his *without* the violence that had constantly shadowed our previous relationship. I saw Walter's trip as an opportunity to prove to Fox that the lessons Walter had taught us could work even in his absence. 

 

Shit, all I really wanted was for Fox to finally see that I had *always* been worthy of being loved by him and that all he'd even needed to do was stop hitting me long enough to open his eyes and really *see* how much I loved him. 

And then, maybe, he'd finally forgive me for setting him up for that damned spanking. 

 

It didn't work like that though. Even though Walter was on the other side of the country he was still in that damned bed with us, an invisible but inescapable presence. When Fox touched me that week I could tell that instead of treasuring the flesh beneath him he was missing the Walter-blanket that was usually draped over his back. 

 

So I'd cautiously suggested that maybe, since Walter was away, we should change positions. 

 

It would have hurt less if he'd laughed at the suggestion. Instead his hazel eyes had gone blank with almost total confusion, as though the idea that I might possibly be an adequate substitute for Walter was simply too unbelievable to contemplate. 

 

And that's when, after three fucking months of self-delusion, it finally hit me. 

Fox loved Walter. 

 

He didn't love me. 

 

He never had. 

 

Before Walter came into our lives I'd just been a convenient place to stick his dick and his fists and it became achingly clear to me that post-Walter the only change was that I was no longer available to use as a punching bag. It was *Walter* who wanted me to stick around, not Fox. 

 

"I love you," I told him, aware even as I said it that I was letting my desperation show but too upset to even care. 

 

He smiled and kissed me and I was too fucking relieved to feel his tongue sliding into my mouth to even realise at first that he hadn't said it back. I tore my lips from his and grabbed his shoulders so hard that he winced. 

 

"Do you love me?" I'd demanded, and then cringed at the neediness of my own words. 

 

"What a stupid question," he'd replied, with a laugh, and knocked me down onto the mattress where he'd proceeded to ravish my neck with his teeth. 

 

Yeah, right. Stupid question. I should have had more pride than to beg, I decided. 

 

Con number four; Fox doesn't love me. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

"He's going to be fifty this year," Fox announced. 

 

"So?" I mumbled, my nose still buried in the paper. 

 

"So we ought to do something special to celebrate. A surprise party maybe. Can you imagine his face?" 

 

"Yeah," I snorted. "It'd be almost as red as your ass would be the next morning." 

 

I handed him the sports section to shut him up and continued my perusal of the financial section. Several of the wildcards I'd included in my share portfolio were going through the roof and I could feel my ass clenching nervously as a result. My tentative venture into the stock market, initially supported by Walter, was threatening to become a problem. There was no way he'd believe this was nothing more than genuine luck on my part. 

 

"Never invest any money you can't afford to lose," he'd advised me. "Then buy a selection of shares, spread the risk between a number of blue chip companies." 

 

"But where's the fun in that?" I'd asked, convinced this was just Walter's subtle way of tying up my small amount of `bolt-hole' money before I drank it dry. 

 

"The `fun' is that you also buy shares in some wild cards," he'd replied. "Small high-risk companies that `might' do well." 

 

It wasn't my fault that every single one of my randomly picked `wild cards' had been taken over during the last couple of months, sending the share prices rocketing upwards. It was just sheer chance that my initial $10,000 portfolio was now worth almost five times as much. The problem was that I was damned sure that both Walter and Fox would suspect I'd been insider trading. It's not easy living down a reputation as a Consortium agent. 

 

Con number five; if Walter throws me out, Fox won't even have to *pretend* to love me anymore. 

 

Pro number three; can't fucking think of one. 

 

"Luigi's," he blurted. 

 

"What?" 

 

"We could take him to Luigi's for his birthday. We've got six weeks. That `should' be long enough to get a reservation." 

 

Yeah, right, I decided sarcastically. A meal at Luigi's might even solve the problem of my unexpected share profits. From what I'd heard about their extortionate menu you needed to take out a second mortgage just to pay for the first course. 

 

"What do you think?" he asked. "He'd love it, wouldn't he?" 

 

Something dark, cold and decidedly unfriendly crawled into my stomach as I dropped the paper and stared at his excited expression. 

 

"You don't *do* birthdays," I reminded him sullenly. 

 

"I don't do *my* birthday," he admitted cheerfully, "but this is *Walter's* birthday. It's different." 

 

Yeah, right, I repeated silently, as my stomach churned with its unwelcome visitor. 

 

"Whatever," I said, with a shrug, and ignored the hurt confusion in his eyes as I jumped to my feet and reached for my jacket. 

 

"Where are you going?" he asked. "I thought since Walter's away we'd spend the day together." 

 

My stomach twisted again. `Since Walter's away.' Yeah, right. 

 

"I'm meeting a friend for lunch," I told him. 

 

He blinked at me uncertainly, his lower lip quivering into the pout that usually tempted me to kiss the sulk right off his face. 

 

Usually. 

 

"See ya later," I said, and walked out the front door without looking back. 

I had a great lunch with my `friend' and then, when I exhausted my friend, I bought another and drank that one too. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

I went home on Monday. 

 

I wasn't shit-faced. Truth was I'd been sober by Sunday afternoon but it took me another 24-hours to get the guts to walk back to our apartment. Well, it wasn't just a matter of guts. I needed Sunday night at a motel to clean myself up, shave and sleep and since that cost me the last of the cash in my wallet I had to return home in the same clothes I'd left in. Despite rinsing out my tee-shirt and jeans in the motel, they still bore the unmistakable evidence that somewhere between leaving the bar on Saturday and waking up on Sunday I had apparently just curled up in some garbage strewn alley and slept in my own vomit. 

 

Yeah, well...that's the problem with my `friend'. It always tastes better going down than coming back up and over the three months since Walter had moved in I had been `encouraged' to lose some of my body's tolerance to that level of alcoholic abuse. 

 

So I didn't dare return home until I was sure Mulder was out of the apartment. 

I turned the key in the lock and staggered slightly with sheer relief that my key still worked. It *had* occurred to me that with Walter out of town it wouldn't have been beyond Mulder to spitefully change the locks on me. He'd done it to me before. Sure, I would have been able to get inside regardless but I figured the fact he hadn't done it meant he wasn't *too* pissed off with me. 

Then, of course, I was pissed that he *wasn't* pissed. Maybe he'd been glad I'd left. Maybe he'd even been relieved that he hadn't had to spend the weekend alone with me. 

 

I was so lost in my own self-pity at the thought that I was halfway across the living room before I even noticed the man sitting quietly on the couch. Talk about losing my edge. If I was still in the game, I'd have been dead. 

 

He rose to his feet and I flinched slightly. He saw my slight cower and a cold, speculative smirk spread across his lips despite the unmistakeable hot fury flashing in his eyes. I saw his right fist clench and I shuddered with a strange combination of fear and excitement as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully at my submissive pose. I saw his expression change the moment he figured it out. He could do it. He could knock seven bells of shit out of me, just like he obviously wanted to, and Walter would never know because I couldn't admit the abuse without admitting the reason *why* Fox had hit me. 

 

The fact that I was capable of ripping him limb from limb with my one remaining arm before he even laid a finger on me wasn't relevant. It wasn't physical superiority that had always enabled Fox to hit me with virtual impunity; it was emotional. Although I had long since learned to offer back at least one or two token blows against the flurry of his fists instead of simply standing there like his willing punching bag, I was emotionally incapable of *really* hurting him even if he was rearranging my face at the time. 

 

That was his power over me. 

 

I shivered as he approached me, but it wasn't fear that made me tremble so much as a weird excited hope that he *would* hit me. 

 

That's not as sick and needy as it sounds. 

 

If Fox hit me, then he wouldn't dare tell Walter what I'd done. Since the moment I'd woken in that garbage-strewn alley with the mother of all hangovers I'd been dreading the moment I'd have to face Walter's fury. It wasn't the prospect of his broad hands beating a tattoo on my ass that terrified me. It wasn't even the idea of seeing the disappointment on his face that made me feel sick, though that was a large part of it. It was the fact that for the first time I'd have to face Walter's punishment without the chance of forgiveness. 

 

Because no matter how hard he beat me, I wouldn't be able to tell him *why* I'd done it and without that confession the spanking would not only be meaningless but would destroy the trust that Walter and I shared. 

 

You have to understand Walter to realise what I'm trying to say. 

 

He didn't get a `kick' out of being my Master. He didn't need my subservience. He didn't enjoy disciplining me physically. He took the dominant role in our relationship because that's what *I* needed. He punished me physically because *I* needed to know he cared enough for me to do it. 

 

Fox couldn't understand the relationship that Walter and I shared. Although `theoretically' Walter had the right to spank him too, Walter never did. Except for that very first night, Walter had never laid a finger on him physically. 

Which isn't to say that Walter didn't discipline Fox but theirs was a Cold War. When Fox misbehaved, Walter's punishment was to immediately remove his affection. It was the one thing Fox couldn't bear. Faced with Walter's cold disapproval, Fox was quickly brought to heel. 

 

In many ways their relationship was far more volatile because, frankly, I was far better at behaving myself than Fox was. 

 

Usually. 

 

"You've been fired." 

 

"What?" I demanded, blinking stupidly as he hit me with words rather than the fists I had expected. 

 

"McMasters rang about an hour ago when you didn't show for work. He said enough is enough and you're fired." 

 

He looked both pissed and smug in equal measure as he told me the bad news. Not smug I'd lost my job exactly; more one of those `I warned you, but you wouldn't listen' expressions. I could see his jaw aching with the effort not to say the words out loud. 

 

Which also explained why Fox hadn't hit me yet, of course. Now there was no way Walter wasn't now going to find out about me going off on yet another blinder and his first question, after upending me on his lap and turning my ass scarlet, would be how Fox had reacted to my behavior. 

 

It took all the courage I had to shoulder past him to the bathroom with a `couldn't give a damn' expression on my face and slam the door in his face. I turned the shower on full, to drown the sound, and then I collapsed over the toilet bowl and puked my guts up. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

Walter returned home on the Wednesday night. 

 

He already knew what I'd done because Fox had jumped to tell him the bad news as soon as he rang us both on Monday. He'd been pretty cold on the phone with *both* of us, me because of what I'd done and Fox because he'd apparently lied for me when Walter rang on Sunday. 

 

Part of me was grateful that Fox had at least *tried* to cover up my two-day affair with vodka. Another, more insidious, part of me believed Fox had only kept quiet so that he could punish me himself. That second part was fuelled by my desperate phone call to McMasters to ask for my job back. I discovered, in the course of that conversation, that Fox hadn't even attempted to lie to my boss for me. Faced with the question "Why hasn't Alex turned up for work `this 

time'" my erstwhile lover had abandoned his usual explanation that I had a `migraine' and had said, "I imagine he's still hung over." 

 

The funny thing is that my boss knew I had a `problem' but had always chosen to pretend he didn't. At least until Fox said it out loud and forced him to face the fact. 

 

"It's not that I won't miss you, Alex," he told me. "You're damned good at your job when you *are* here and you've been so much more reliable for the last few months that I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt." 

 

"So you'll take me back?" 

 

"I can't," he said, and he actually sounded as damned pissed about the fact as I was. "It's not just my reputation at stake here. It's an insurance issue too, Alex. I can't employ a known alcoholic for safety reasons." 

 

"I'm not a fucking alcoholic," I screamed at him. 

 

And that was the end of the phone call and my career as a Security Consultant. 

Walter took Fox's side, of course. He told me it was *my* fault I'd lost my job and that it was both unfair and unreasonable of me to expect Fox to lie for me. 

 

"I'm not an alcoholic," I spat, more incensed by that label than the actual firing. 

 

"I know," Walter said, his agreement taking the wind out of my sails, "and I'm not going to let you become one, Alex. Go wait for me in the bedroom, while I talk to Fox." 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

"Why did you do it?" 

 

"I don't know," I muttered sullenly, and was rewarded with six sharp slaps across my already tender ass. 

 

"Did you and Fox argue?" he demanded, although I'd already heard Fox loudly deny that possibility while I'd stripped and waited for my punishment. 

 

"No," I admitted. 

 

He paused, puzzled, his palm resting almost gently on my ass as he evidently tried to figure out what had happened in his absence. 

 

"Then why, Alex? You're *not* an alcoholic. You don't *have* to drink. You don't even like drinking. You only do it when you're upset and you want to run away from the pain you're feeling. It's a stupid solution but you always have a *reason* for doing it. What happened? What upset you enough for you to do something so damned stupid and dangerous?" 

 

What upset me? Jeez, maybe it had something to do with the fact that I realised I'd thrown eight years of obsession at a man who saw me as no more than a convenient sex toy. I lied for him, Walter. I stole for him. I fucking killed for him. I even killed *you* for him. I spent six years walking a tightrope between the Consortium, the UN and the KGB just to keep Fox Mulder alive. None of the rest ever mattered to me. I never cared about the aliens or the politics or the ultimate stakes of the game I was playing. All I ever cared about was Fox. 

 

But I couldn't say that to him, to Walter, without losing what little of Fox I *had* finally managed to steal. 

 

Fox didn't want me. He'd obviously never wanted me and if I had any fucking pride I would have scrambled off Walter's lap, grabbed my stuff, and left the two of them to play happy families together. Only whatever pride I'd once owned had long deserted me. I had puked it out of my body in a stream of black oil in an abandoned silo. I had bled it out onto the floor of a Russian forest. I had cried it out with every strike of Fox's fists against my body. It had crashed out of me as my knees had hit the floor at Walter's feet when I had realised my only chance of remaining in Fox's life was by becoming Walter's sub. I had ejaculated it with every orgasm that Fox and Walter had teased out of me as I lay in their bed. 

 

*Their* bed. I was finally ready to face that reality. 

 

It had always been *their* bed, even when Fox and I had shared it alone. I had just been keeping it warm until Walter was finally ready to take his rightful place at Fox's side. 

 

"I missed you," I said, into the silence of the room and, even as Walter gave a deep sigh of understanding and moved his hand from my butt to gently caress my lower back, I realised that my comment wasn't just a deflection but the absolute truth. I did miss him, because Walter's presence cushioned me against Fox's indifference. Walter gave me the strength to stay. 

 

It was pathetic and I hated myself for it but it didn't make it any less true. It was a cold and lonely place I was in, my nose pressed covetously against the window of their relationship, but the idea of turning away and losing even that small peripheral place in Fox's life was impossible to contemplate. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

I expected Walter to be furious about me losing my job but he wasn't. He certainly was distressed about *why* I had been fired and consequently grounded me as though I was a teenager but he was surprisingly unconcerned about the job itself. 

 

"You deserve better than that as a career," he told me, and smiled at my complete surprise that he should make such a comment. "I shared Fox's pride that you had found yourself an honest job, Alex, but I was never particularly pleased about your choice of career." 

 

"What choice," I muttered under my breath. It wasn't as though I had that many options, as I saw it. Considering the necessary holes in my C.V. I was grateful that McMasters had given me a job at all. 

 

As always, Walter heard my almost silent mumble. 

 

"Tell me, Alex. Why did you take the job in the first place?" 

 

I shrugged and gave him a nervous grin. "Because McMasters offered it to me." 

 

"And why did you apply for the job?" 

 

"Because I needed a job," I sighed, not understanding what point he was trying to make. 

 

"Of course," he agreed, "but why *that* job? Why didn't you wait until something better came along? You weren't that desperate. You had money. Fitting burglar alarms isn't exactly a prime career choice for someone with a degree in Computer Programming. While I understand you'd have a problem getting into a corporation without a background check, a smaller company would be so grateful for the skills you offer that they might well take a chance on you." 

 

"Maybe I didn't want to work with computers," I suggested sullenly, then flinched as the first look of genuine annoyance crossed his features. Guilt made my buttocks clench nervously and I shuffled on my seat. Oddly, my fidgeting made him smile as though he was well aware I understood the precariousness of my position. 

 

"Maybe you want to tell me the truth now," he suggested quietly. 

 

I felt sick, scared and relieved at the same time. Whatever the outcome of the truth, it couldn't possibly be worse than continuing to live a lie. 

 

"I hated the job," I admitted in a small voice. "I never wanted to take it and I hated every moment of it." 

 

"So why *did* you take it?" he asked, just as quietly. 

 

"Fox." 

 

"He wanted you to work for McMasters?" 

 

I shook my head. "No, he just said I had to get a job, an *honest* job, and...well, I just took the first job I could get." 

 

"To keep him happy?" 

 

I threw caution to the wind, ignored the clenching in my guts and just told the truth. 

 

"No. Just to keep *him*." 

 

He didn't seem surprised, just saddened by my comment. 

 

"And when you threw the job away, Alex, was that a message for Fox too?" 

 

I nearly fell off my chair in surprise. 

 

"I didn't..." 

 

"Of course you did. How many times did you think you *could* fail to turn up for work without being fired? Know what I think? I think that every time you walked out on Fox, got drunk and missed work, you were subconsciously choosing to give Fox an excuse to end your relationship. He'd made it clear that you having and keeping a job wasn't optional." 

 

"I never wanted to leave Fox," I snarled. 

 

"I didn't say that you did. You were terrified that he might leave you though. You couldn't cope with the idea that he might not love you enough to stay so every time your relationship was threatened you gave him *other* reasons to call it off. The fact you got drunk. The fact you lost your job. The fact you left in the first place. Anything, just so you could blame your own behaviour for the break up rather than possibly face the fact that he simply didn't love you enough." 

 

"Bastard," I hissed, springing to my feet and backing away from him before he saw the tears that had begun to sting my eyes at his words. Slowly, patiently, he came after me, pressing me back against the wall, using his body to prevent my escape and his soft understanding expression to diffuse my hurt outrage. 

 

"I didn't say Fox doesn't love you enough, Alex," he whispered. "This discussion isn't about what *he* feels, it's about *your* perception of his feelings. You can't live like this, constantly in fear of being rejected." 

 

Maybe it was hysteria, but his comment made me laugh. Then the worried look on his face proved that *he* certainly thought I was hysterical. 

 

"What about us, Alex?" he asked softly. "Do you think *I'll* leave you? Is losing me part of your fear or am I just part of your problem with Fox? Do you just see our relationship as the price you have to pay to keep Fox?" 

 

I groaned as though gut shot and swung away from him, desperately struggling to control my emotions enough to give him an answer. Even a week previously, the answer would have been a definite `yes' but it wasn't so cut and dried anymore. Now I even wondered whether it was the other way around. Perhaps I tolerated Fox's indifference just to stay with Walter. 

 

"I want you both," I finally whispered and it was the truth. Yet, in some ways it was a lie too because of what I *didn't* say. That they were tearing me apart. That sometimes it hurt so damned much to be near them but not really part of them that all I could do was run away from the pain. That every act of tenderness on Walter's part simply cast a contrast upon Fox's behavior. That every kindness on Fox's part was cast into cruel shadow by my knowledge that he was only being kind to me for Walter's sake. That I hated myself, hated both the years I had wasted on a hopeless dream and my inability to escape its thrall. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

"Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?" 

 

I froze in place at the light, mildly mocking tone, my body going so rigid that my only movement was the sudden frantic thudding of my heart. Walter didn't notice my fear. He was too busy pulling away from me, his face splitting into a wide grin as he turned to reach his hand out in welcome. "Always room for you, Fox," he purred. 

 

Fox smiled back at him and moved into the room with assurance, ripping his tee shirt off while he stepped out of his sneakers. Then he shimmied out of his jeans, smirking widely at Walter's appreciative realisation that he wasn't wearing boxers, and slipped into bed beside us. 

 

He didn't even look at me. He just raised his face for Walter's kiss, slid his arms around Walter's waist and I heard them both groan as their tongues met in a passionate dance. 

 

I was so fucking stunned that I didn't know whether to scream in fury or hit them both so hard that they remembered my naked presence beside them. Only I was too scared that I might just cry instead, so I flipped over onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow so that I wouldn't have to watch them. It was bad enough knowing how little either of them *really* cared about me without having my face rubbed in it. 

 

They were sucking face so hard that I heard the sickening sound of their lips detaching. I couldn't prevent an answering moan of distress and I heard Fox exhale sharply the moment before he tumbled on top of my back hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs. 

 

"Don't I even get a kiss?" he complained, for Walter's benefit. 

 

I squirmed angrily beneath him as I struggled for enough breath to tell him to go fuck himself. 

 

"Jeez, Alex. You don't waste any time, do you?" he mocked, and pressed his cock against the place that Walter had already so carefully prepared. "Oh, yeah," he groaned as he slid easily inside my loosened ass. 

 

Which was the moment I finally remembered that it was okay for him to treat me like a personal fuck toy after all. As he slid inside me, velvet-sheathed steel boring inside to temporarily fill just a tiny part of the aching loneliness of my life, I told myself the moisture on my face was sweat not tears and that the pleasure my body took in his careless touch was worth any wound to my spirit. What was pride compared to the bliss of Fox's flesh burrowing inside mine? 

 

I loved him. I always had. From the first moment I had laid eyes on him I'd known that inside Fox Mulder I'd find the missing pieces of my own soul. What I'd failed to see, until it was too late, was that Fox would never give those pieces to me. He'd just rent them to me occasionally. Just often enough to remind me why I could never leave him. Just often enough to destroy my desire to escape. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

Fox saved his comments on my unemployment until Walter was in the bath that night. The contrast between his attitude and Walter's hurt like fuck. It wasn't his anger that hurt me though. It was the utter contempt for me that he revealed with his comments. 

 

"So how did you like your first day at the unemployment office?" he spat. 

 

"It was very productive," I replied. "I've got an interview lined up." 

 

"Which won't be worth shit when you admit you were fired from your last job for drinking." 

 

"You didn't have to tell McMasters I was drunk," I pointed out quietly. 

 

"Since he was desperate enough to hire you in the first place, despite your record, how the hell was I supposed to know he'd have such a hard-on about you drinking? If you can't keep a crappy job like that, how the hell are you going to work for anyone?" he demanded defensively. 

 

Crappy job. Crappy job? 

 

"I'm going to work with computers," I told him, keeping my tone quiet and dignified. 

 

"Well I guess if you can sell alarms, you can sell anything," he replied dismissively. 

 

I kept my temper with difficulty. It was only Walter's presence in the bathroom that kept me from just grabbing my coat and storming out to the nearest bar. 

"Not selling computers. Installing and programming them. The position is for a Technical Consultant." 

 

He just rolled his eyes at me as though I'd suggested I was applying to be a cosmonaut. "What the hell are you going to do for money in the meantime?" he demanded. "Walter and I aren't keeping you, Alex." 

 

That one hurt. Hurt a lot. Hurt enough to break down my veneer of total calm. 

 

"I told you, I've got an interview lined up already and, anyway, I've got savings. I can sell some of my shares if you're that worried about the rent," I spat. 

 

"Oh yeah, Mr Wall Street Stockbroker," he scoffed. 

 

My eyes slid nervously towards the floor. As of that morning my portfolio had hit $90,000 and was still rising. I didn't *dare* say so though. He already had enough ammunition to use against me. 

 

"I can pay my way," I hissed defensively. 

 

"Yeah, right," he spat. 

 

"If this is about that fucking restaurant..." I added angrily, suddenly convinced that he was less pissed off about me losing my job than the fact that I now had an excuse to refuse to pay my half of the bill for Walter's birthday. All roads lead to Rome and all Fox's conversations lead back to Walter. It was beginning to be a universal constant. 

 

"We're not going to the fucking restaurant," he yelled back. 

 

"Because I lost my job?" I ask, momentarily blind-sided. 

 

"Because I can't get a fucking reservation. There. Satisfied now?" 

 

I admit my first reaction was sheer pleasure at the announcement. It was all I could do to keep a smirk off my face. It was only when I saw the sheer misery in Fox's expression that my initial satisfaction turned into confusion. 

 

"Why the hell not?" 

 

Fox shrugged, suddenly looking tired and defeated. 

 

"They're booked up." 

 

"It's not for six fucking weeks. How the hell can they be fully booked?" 

 

He shrugged again, his lower lip quivering slightly, his eyes suddenly muddy with self-doubt. "Dunno," he whispered. 

 

Fuckers. 

 

"Maybe they misheard you about the date," I suggested. 

 

"I didn't phone, I went down there. They're...um...exclusive." 

 

"Exclusive?" I asked quietly. 

 

He shrugged again. "Guess I didn't look like the right sort." 

 

Six foot three of Sex in an Armani suit? 

 

Are they fucking BLIND? 

 

MOTHER FUCKERS. 

 

How dare they? How fucking DARE they? They turned MY lover away? They thought MY Fox wasn't fucking good enough for their fucking tight-assed fucking food? 

Suddenly it didn't matter what *I* thought about Mulder's plan to celebrate Walter's birthday or that it would be a cold day in hell before I agreed to attend. All that mattered in that moment was that some jumped up asshole had dared, had fucking dared, to look at the man I loved and find him wanting. 

Not in MY lifetime. 

 

No one was going to insult MY Fox and live to tell the tale. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

"It was a mistake." 

 

"What?" I asked disinterestedly, my nose still buried in my novel. 

 

"Luigi's. They just phoned. They made a mistake about the date. They *thought* Walter's birthday clashed with the opening night of Julia Robert's new film. That's why they said the place was fully booked, for the opening night party. Only they got the date wrong." 

 

"Oh," I muttered. 

 

"You don't fucking care, do you?" 

 

I shrugged. 

 

"Bastard," he snapped. "Keep your fucking money. I'll pay for it myself. They're giving us a discount anyway because of the mix-up." 

 

I waited until he stomped out of the room before raising my head to gaze thoughtfully at the door he'd just slammed. 

 

"They're giving you a discount because `Luigi' got a fucking good look at my Sig when I threw a grand down on his desk and pointed out his `mistake'," I muttered under my breath. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

I hate them. 

 

I hate them both. 

 

If I had any pride I'd just fuck off out of here and leave them to it. 

 

Yeah. 

 

That's what they want, isn't it? 

 

Fuck `em. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

"Alex?" 

 

"What?" 

 

"You're not even dressed." 

 

"Dunno what color the sky is in your world, Mulder, but where I come from these are clothes." 

 

"Mulder?" he repeated stupidly, his face twisting with hurt. "Since when did you start calling me Mulder again?" 

 

"Since when did *you* decide I have to put a fucking suit on before you'll go out in public with me?" 

 

"Shit, Alex. It's not about *you*. This is Walter's birthday. It's supposed to be special. I can't believe you can't be bothered to get changed." 

 

"I don't see why the fuck it matters what *I* wear. It's not *my* birthday," I snapped. 

 

Get a fucking clue, Mulder. 

 

"It matters because they won't let you in there in jeans," he growled. "You know Luigi's has a dress code." 

 

Yeah, I know. 

 

Just like I know this meal will cost more than our usual monthly grocery bill. 

Just like it took a thousand bucks and my gun just to get your over-dressed butt on one of their chairs. 

 

"So?" I drawled. 

 

He wanted to hit me. I could see it in his eyes; in the way he stiffened, in the way his hands curled into fists. 

 

For just that one moment a spark of excitement drove away a little of the dark cloud that smothered me. 

 

Do it. Go on, Fox. Hit me. HIT me. Fucking care enough about me again to at least do *that*. 

 

He just turned on his heel. I was slapped only by my sight of the back of his perfectly pressed Armani as he walked away and instead of bright pain ripping through me he left nothing in his wake except a dull, empty throb. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

I don't remember my father well. He died when I was too young to have already framed his memory for eternity and then the events of the subsequent years stole my innocence so quickly that those memories that I did have became too alien for comfort. Still, there are memories that survived the combined efforts of both the Consortium and myself to pretend that I was a soulless automaton spawned of the devil rather than just an ordinary boy who lost his way somewhere along the treacherous path of adolescence. 

 

One of my clearest memories of my father is that of me bent over his lap, crying my eyes out while he spanked seven hells out of my butt. Although, for all his supposed brilliance at psychology, Fox can't understand my insistence that it is one of my few *good* memories - it's something that I treasure. A moment that I jealously hoard and secretly gloat over in the many dark, lonely times of my existence. 

 

Someone loved me once. Loved me enough to expect the best of me. Loved me enough to try and teach me right from wrong. Not to make *his* life easier, but simply to make me a better, happier person. 

 

I may not have learned much from my father, and the memory of what I did learn is faded and torn like an old photograph, but what I *did* learn is that love, *real* love, isn't about sex. It's about caring for another person so much that you put them first in all things. Even if they don't understand why you act as you do. Even if they grow to hate you. 

 

Like Fox hated me. 

 

He couldn't forgive me for the part I played in Scully's abduction. It didn't matter how many times I explained that I *knew* she'd be returned alive and that the alternative was his death. It didn't even make much difference to him that when the plan changed, when it was decided that Scully's life was no longer sacrosanct, that I returned her to him. He no longer doubted that it was I who took her to that hospital. He simply didn't understand the concept of forgiveness. 

 

I could go on, list all the wrongs I did and the right reasons I did them, but it made no difference to Fox. He may have been open to extreme possibilities, to the idea of extra-terrestrials and mothmen, to vampires and mutant flukeworms, but the idea of a truly penitent Krycek seemed to be beyond his understanding. 

 

By that point I'd totally given up on the idea that his passion hid anything more than lust. Somewhere along the line I'd convinced myself that the reason he hit me was the same reason my father had spanked me. To make me a better person. To teach me right from wrong. To show, however inappropriately, that he cared for me. 

 

Instead, in finding Walter and inviting him into our lives, I'd truly rediscovered the relationship I'd been looking for. I'd found someone who *really* understood the difference between abuse and correction. It should have made me happy. Instead it was shattering because it finally forced me to face reality. 

 

Only, it was even worse than that. 

 

I discovered that even in the face of that reality, I still couldn't let Fox go. 

So then I hated myself too. 

 

Another memory of my childhood, one that I cling to with the same combination of glee and dread, is that of a visit to a fairground. I remember begging my father to let me ride the roller coaster. He warned me it was a mistake, he insisted that I was too young and that instead of thrilling me the ride would be terrifying. He pointed out that once we got on, there would be no getting off until the ride was at an end. Then he eventually gave in. Perhaps just to teach me a lesson. 

 

He was right, of course. As soon as our carriage began to trundle slowly up towards the first horrific drop I knew I'd made a mistake. I felt sick, terrified, convinced that the carriage would derail. Although I was too young to understand mortality I was old enough to understand fear but, as he had warned me, once the roller coaster started I had no choice except to see the ride through to the bitter end. 

 

Life's like that sometimes. You know you've taken the wrong turn but your feet are set on the path you've chosen and you can't get off. The day I met Fox I knew my allegiance to Spender had been a terrible mistake. I knew and yet I did nothing. I didn't even try to get off the ride because it was too late. 

 

Looking back, there were a dozen, a hundred, maybe a thousand different ways I could have leapt off that particular roller coaster but at the time my fear was in control. 

 

You'd think I would have learned a lesson from that, but I didn't. 

 

Even as I refused to accompany Fox to Luigi's, even as the door slammed behind his fury as he stalked off alone, even as I reached for my leather jacket and made the decision to celebrate Walter's birthday in my own inimitable style, I *knew* I was making one of the worst mistakes of my life. 

 

And I wanted to turn around. I wanted to run back to the apartment and get changed into a suit. I wanted to turn up at the restaurant with a smile of apology for my lateness. 

 

I wanted to. 

 

But I was already on the roller coaster and no matter how terrified I was, no matter how bitterly I regretted climbing on board, I knew that there was no way to get off again until the ride was over. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

Lined up along the bar, like ducks in a row, the empty shot glasses occasionally sparkled in the refracted light from the mirror as though they were winking at me with malevolent humor. 

 

"Another," I snarled, my voice a barely recognisable slur even in my own ears. 

 

"Go home, Alex," Jan replied, his expression firm though kind beneath slightly wary eyes as I reached meaningfully inside my jacket. 

 

I saw the fear lurking within his pale grey eyes and for a moment, as my fingers brushed across the handle of my illegally concealed Sig, I considered `insisting' that he served me another vodka. 

 

The temptation was terrifyingly seductive. Suddenly it wasn't the alcohol I craved but the taste of Jan's fear. I could picture the way he would tremble, how his six feet four of brawn would crumble before the cold black eye of my gun, how his eyes would flare and widen in sudden understanding that this was not a *tame* rat in his bar, after all. 

 

Perhaps he saw *something* in my face, some glimmer of barely concealed danger, because when my hand emerged clasping nothing more dangerous than my wallet, I saw his whole frame deflate a little with almost anti-climatic relief. 

 

I threw a fifty at him and sauntered away from the bar, careful to prowl rather than stagger although the room was listing precariously around me. Still, it was only when the fresh night air assaulted me that the vodka finally slammed into my head with the force of a runaway train. 

 

I heard the slamming of the car-door, the furious footsteps, and was swinging blindly before they even touched me. It was a mistake to move so quickly when the world was turning a somersault around my head. I overbalanced, crashed to my knees, my stomach did a back-flip and suddenly my face was in the gutter and I was puking my guts out all over my black jeans. 

 

Cool hand on my forehead, keeping my face from smashing into the sidewalk. Another hand wiping a handkerchief over my mouth, down my jeans. Strong arms bracing me from behind as I heaved. 

 

"Stupid fucking bastard," a furious hiss. 

 

"Just let it go, Alex. Let it all out," a deeper, sadder voice. 

 

"What the fucking hell's wrong with you, Alex?" Angry words tumbling through ragged sobs. 

 

"Not here, Fox. Let's just get him home." 

 

"Everything okay?" A softer, apologetic voice. Jan. Bastard. Fucking traitor. 

 

"Why the hell did you serve him so much, you bastard?" 

 

"Fox, put Alex in the car" Smooth, firm voice. In control. As always. "Thanks for ringing us, Jan." 

 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let him...." 

 

"Not your fault, Jan. He'd have just gone somewhere else. At least he was safe here." 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

"Why?" 

 

There was a world of hurt in that single, soft word. A deep ocean of emotion swirling in those dark chocolate eyes. So much obvious disappointment in that otherwise calm face that I could have drowned in my own shame. 

 

Or maybe I was just feeling seasick from the way the room was still tilting around me. 

 

There was a nasty scrape down his right cheekbone and a splattering of dried blood down his shirt collar. I flinched as I remembered the sickening crunch of my elbow connecting with softer flesh as I panicked outside Jan's bar at the feel of strong arms enveloping my heaving body. 

 

Happy Birthday, Walter. 

 

I felt sick and ashamed, so I lashed out. 

 

"Why not?" I challenged a little too loudly, then winced as my own words crashed through my throbbing head like falling cymbals. 

 

In the kitchen I could hear Fox doing a little crashing of his own as he threw pots and pans around with almost gleeful violence. I winced again at the thought of facing breakfast. Fox was the worst cook I'd ever known even without the added distraction of his being pissed as hell as he attempted to do it. 

 

"Why didn't you talk to us, Alex? Why didn't you tell us you were hurting? Why didn't you trust *me* if it wasn't something you could discuss with Fox?" 

 

Owch. That hurt. I was feeling too fucking vulnerable for Walter to slap the guilt on with a trowel like that. 

 

"I couldn't," I pointed out with bitterness. "Your meal was supposed to be a *surprise*, wasn't it?" 

 

"Then this *was* about my birthday?" he asked, confusion warring with hurt over his features. 

 

"I didn't want to go to that fucking stupid restaurant," I snarled. "I told Fox I didn't want to go. He didn't listen to me." 

 

"It was a very nice place. Good food. Not that we appreciated it," he replied calmly, although the hurt was clearly beginning to win out over the confusion. "Once we realised you really weren't coming we both lost our appetites." 

 

"Sorry," I muttered sullenly. "Shame to waste all Fox's money like that." 

 

He stiffened a little at the obvious insincerity of my apology. 

 

"What was it, Alex? Did you object to the cost on principle or just the fact that Fox wanted to spend so much on me?" 

 

Fuckit. 

 

I never wanted to hurt *him*. 

 

I scrambled off the bed and delved into my discarded jacket, wrinkling my nose at the smell of smoke, booze and sickness that pervaded the leather, to retrieve a small wrapped box. I thrust it into his hands and stepped back nervously, my eyes flinching from his penetrating gaze. 

 

He slowly opened the wrapping to expose the jeweller's box. He stared at it for so long that I began shuffling on the spot, torn between the desire to scream and the urge to just flee the room, and then he carefully pushed the lid back on its hinge. 

 

Still silent, his fingers traced the object with seeming disbelief before he reached inside and retrieves the small elegant certificate of authenticity. He peered for a long time at the certificate and I saw tension drain out of his shoulders as he saw the seller's stamp that proved that I bought the watch legitimately. 

 

I suppose I should have been pissed about his automatic suspicion but I was too damned relieved by his sudden smile of pure, absolute pleasure. 

 

"It's beautiful, Alex," he breathed. "Thank you." 

 

He reached a hand out towards me and I jumped into his lap with barely any hesitation, throwing my arms around his shoulders and burying my face into his neck, resting my forehead against his skin so that the steady pulse of his blood soothed the throbbing ache in my head. 

 

"Did you sell your shares to buy this?" he asked suddenly, and I stiffened slightly before admitting that I had sold *some* of them. 

 

I saw him bite his lip as though he was struggling between the urge to chastise me for selling the shares and his understanding that I would take any negative comment as a rejection of my gift. 

 

"I...um...my shares are doing well," I mumbled. "I didn't touch the capital, just the profit." 

 

He looked simultaneously surprised, relieved and concerned and I knew without doubt that he would be asking to see my portfolio to see just how well I *was* doing. For a moment I was scared and then, sitting in his lap and looking at his soft smile, I realised that if he were willing to give me the benefit of the doubt over my behavior the night before then surely he'd do the same about the shares. 

 

I felt stupid. I'd allowed my paranoia over Fox to affect the way I judged Walter too. While I still was damned certain that Fox would suspect the worst of me, I was suddenly equally sure that Walter would at least hear me out. 

 

"So your shares are doing well?" he asked, as though he'd read my mind. 

 

"Too well," I mumbled. 

 

"I'm not really surprised," he replied mildly. "I don't remember all the wild cards you chose in the end but the couple I remember are in my own portfolio too and they're going through the roof." 

 

"They are?" 

 

He looked at me carefully and his eyes darkened with unmistakeable compassion. 

 

"I'm sorry, Alex. I thought you'd enjoy the shares. It should have occurred to me that you'd find them stressful." 

 

"I did," I finally admitted. "I thought...I...um..." 

 

"That I'd find it suspicious if you did well?" 

 

"Yeah." 

 

"You idiot," he replied fondly, squeezing me in reassurance. "Don't you know how much I believe in you, Alex? I trust you." 

 

All I could manage was a confused exhalation of breath as six weeks of tension escaped because of three tiny words. 

 

"Perhaps it's time you trusted me too," he pointed out, his expression becoming sterner. 

 

I nodded, feeling appropriately chastened. 

 

"So, on that note, I want you to answer my next question truthfully and without any hesitation." 

 

"`Kay," I whispered. 

 

"Why did you buy me the watch?" 

 

"It's your birthday." 

 

"Why such an *expensive* watch?" 

 

"Because...because you...because I...because I wanted to give you something really special." I gathered all my courage, looked him straight in the eye and finally said it. "Because I love you." 

 

He closed his eyes for a moment, as though struggling with his own emotions, and his arms tightened around me. 

 

"I love you too, Alex," he replied, but there was something strained in his tone as he said it. Then he called out "Fox?" and I stiffened with fear, only the soothing strokes of his hand on the back of my neck keeping me in place as Fox entered the room. I wasn't ready to face him yet, so I hid my face against Walter's neck and pretended to ignore him. 

 

"See what Alex bought me for my birthday," Walter said, his voice soft. 

 

I heard Fox's sharp intake of breath, then the mattress rocked as he sat down beside us and I felt his fingers pull against my hand until I released it from Walter's waist so that Fox could trap it between his own. For a long time he just squeezed my fingers, as though trying to force me to turn to him by touch alone, then he gave up and spoke aloud. 

 

"Alex?" he said quietly, his voice devoid of the anger I'd expected. The anger I'd heard him expel in the kitchen earlier. "Please look at me." 

 

I cautiously glanced at his face although I kept my face safely tucked under Walter's chin. 

 

"I don't understand," Fox admitted. "After the way you behaved last night, I assumed you were pissed off with me for booking such an expensive restaurant for Walter's birthday but this...hell, this must have cost ten times as much. So why, Alex? Why buy him such a present but then ruin his birthday?" 

 

Spoken in such a soft tone, the accusation hurt more than a physical slap. 

 

"I didn't ruin his fucking birthday," I replied, snatching my hand back from his and leaping off Walter's lap as though it had burned me. I took several steps backward until I was safely out of reach of both of them. "I don't see what that stupid fucking restaurant had to do with me. That was *your* present, Fox. The watch was mine." 

 

"But I booked the restaurant for all of us, Alex," he replied, his expression confused. 

 

I couldn't stand it any longer. I couldn't take it any more. If he didn't stop looking at me with that wide-eyed innocent pretence I was going to hit him. For the first time in all the years I had known him, I finally wanted to be the one who threw the first punch. For the first time ever I looked at him with something frighteningly akin to hate instead of love. 

 

"I told you I wasn't going. I told you six fucking weeks ago that I wasn't going to go to the fucking restaurant," I virtually screamed at him. 

 

Before he could answer, before I could even draw breath again myself, Walter surged to his feet. He took two steps towards me and I cowered slightly before realising that his face wasn't red with anger, it was white with shock. 

 

"Six weeks?" he croaked, as though the words were choking him. 

 

Fox couldn't see his face so he answered. Me, I was too frightened to even breathe. I'd done it. I'd finally ruined everything. I'd finally destroyed myself and I was so stunned by my own stupidity that I could only stand there in silent horror as the roller coaster I had strapped myself into continued to speed unstoppably to the end of the ride. 

 

"Yeah, I had to book the table weeks ago," Fox admitted. 

 

"When I was away," Walter whispered, his words as ghostly as his pallor. 

 

"Well I booked it after you got back but yeah, Alex and I discussed it when you were away." 

 

"I see," Walter replied, his eyes raking my face before dropping as though disgusted by what he saw, and then he turned and walked out of the room. 

 

It was only when the door snickered shut behind Walter that Fox's stunned face met mine. He looked at my guilty eyes, again at the closed door, and for the first time in my experience his profiling ability snapped into place inside our own apartment. 

 

"Six weeks ago. The last time you got shit-faced." His eyes narrowed. "That's why you walked out, wasn't it? That's why you fucked off out of here. Because I was planning a surprise for Walter. Because...because you were jealous. *That's* why you didn't join us. You hated the idea so fucking much that you got falling down drunk on your own rather than come along." 

 

He rose off the bed and I took a step backwards, pulling my arm up to protect myself. He flinched and froze mid-step. 

 

"You bastard," he hissed. "I thought you loved Walter. I thought you wanted this. Why the fuck did you buy him the watch? Was it guilt? Did you want to soften the blow before you stabbed him in the back?" 

 

"I...I..." 

 

"Shut up, Alex. Just shut the fuck up," he screamed at me, his eyes filling with tears even as his fists clenched at his sides. 

 

"I'm sorry," I pleaded. "Please Fox, I'm sorry. I...I won't do it again. I promise. Please, Fox. Give me another chance. I won't be jealous anymore, I swear. I...I'll...I'll accept you love him. That you'll never love me. Just...just let me stay. Please let me stay." 

 

But I was talking to an empty room. He'd left before I'd even said his name. 

I sank to my knees, hugging my chest, knowing I should be moving, should be packing my things, but unable to do anything except keen silently and rock there on the carpet as my whole world collapsed around me. 

 

I wanted to scream, to shout, but it was all I could do just to drag air in and out of my lungs. 

 

I could hear them arguing in the next room, voices alternately loud and soft, angry and pleading, and I wanted to listen to them, since my future was being dissected in that room, but I couldn't distinguish the words over the rushing sound of my own blood. 

 

The ride was over, my carriage had derailed, and I was falling, tumbling towards the unforgiving ground, my body destined to be smashed apart on impact. All I needed to do was rise to my feet, grab my coat and leave. No point even packing a case. I had nowhere to go, nowhere I wanted to go. My life was over and I had pulled the trigger myself. All I needed to do now was go and lie down quietly somewhere like any other corpse. If I could just somehow get up off my knees. 

I was still kneeling there, numb and bereft, when the bedroom door crashed open and Walter strode in and crossed to the wardrobe, walking around me as though I wasn't even there. 

 

"Please, Walter," Fox begged from the door. "I'm sorry. Please understand." 

 

"I understand," Walter replied, his voice thick. "I *do* understand, Fox. This won't take long." 

 

He reached to open the cupboard over the in-built wardrobe and tugged out an empty suitcase. He pulled it so hard that it fell faster than he could catch it and it tumbled to the floor, the catch snapping apart on impact so that it sprang open like a clamshell directly in front of me. 

 

I stared down with momentary disbelief at the displayed lining, at the sprawled straps, at the unmistakeable message that Walter had just thrown at my feet and I opened my mouth to utter a broken "Okay, I understand. I'll go" but somehow, as the noise rose from my chest, exploded through my throat and then wailed out of my mouth it became a rising ululation of sheer agony, a howl of torment, sorrow and abandonment. 

 

And once I started to scream, I couldn't stop. 

 

Fox slapped me. Not hard, just enough to break through my hysteria, and I remember staring at him in complete shock, my hand rising to touch my stinging cheek in total disbelief. 

 

I stared incredulously at his worried, tear-stained face, at the undeniable look of guilt on his features when he saw my own tearful incomprehension of his slap. I frowned at him reproachfully, pressing myself back into Walter's arms, certain that he'd protect me from Fox's unexpected violence through I couldn't understand why he'd let Fox hit me in the first place. My knees throbbed and I realised I was kneeling on the floor. Then I wondered *why* I was kneeling on the floor, and why Walter and Fox were kneeling on either side of me. Then, like a second slap, my memory of the last ten minutes came flooding back and I scrambled to my feet, running for the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet in time. 

 

I heaved until it felt like my stomach lining was attempting to escape through my mouth. There was nothing to come up. I hadn't eaten since I'd left two bottles of Vodka in the gutter outside Jan's bar. My stomach didn't want to believe me though and continued its violent effort to expel itself until my throat was burning with the acidic bile that *had* risen as my diaphragm attempted to kick the shit out of my ribcage. 

 

I think it was Fox who turned the shower on and Walter who held me upright in it though I was so far out of it that it might have been the other way round. All I know for sure is that I ended up back at the bed, beneath the covers this time, with Walter and Fox lying on either side of me in an attempt to warm me up. 

 

This is nice, I thought. Maybe if I stay sick, they won't make me leave. Maybe they'll let me stay. 

 

I didn't realise I said it out loud. 

 

~#~#~#~ 

 

I woke several hours later to find that Walter and Fox were sitting together at the foot of the bed, talking quietly to each other. They didn't *look* angry anymore but I wasn't prepared to take any chances, so I closed my eyes again and pretended to still be asleep. 

 

After a few futile minutes of trying to hear what they were whispering to each other, I cautiously opened one eye just a crack and turned my head enough to look at the carpet near the door. The suitcase was missing. I rapidly bit my lower lip to prevent my sigh of relief escaping to alert them I was awake. Then I realised its absence didn't necessarily mean it had been put back in the wardrobe. Maybe they had packed it while I slept. Maybe it was by the front door, just waiting for me to join it. Maybe they were only letting me sleep in the hope that I'd wake up less hysterical and agree to leave without all the wailing and gnashing of teeth. 

 

Against my will, my mind rewound and replayed the earlier events. It was Walter who'd fetched the suitcase, but it was Fox who was throwing me out. I'd heard him say it. "Please understand" but then Walter had said "I *do* understand." So, both of them were agreed on it. 

 

It was what I expected, wasn't it? It wasn't a surprise. Fox and 

Walter loved each other. Walter `sort-of' loved me, but he loved Fox more. Fox...well, Fox just hated me. 

 

I was better off without them. 

 

I didn't need this shit, I decided. Nobody could live like that, like some unwanted pet kept out of some sense of obligation. That was what I was to Fox. I meant no more to him than the fish he had brought here from his apartment. He still fed them and cleaned them, saying that it wasn't *their* fault he had lost interest in owning them. You could see the guilty relief in his face every time one of them had to be flushed to the great ocean in the sky. He never replaced the fish that died. He was just biding his time, doing his self-appointed duty by them, until the last one took its final swim and he could finally close that chapter in his life. 

 

It was obvious that he felt the same reluctant obligation to pet rats. 

 

Well, fuck that. 

 

I opened my eyes, waited for them both to notice I was awake and, when I had their attention, I opened my mouth to tell them both to go to hell. Only, the words got kind of twisted in my throat as they came out. 

 

"Please, I'm sorry," I gasped, hesitated a moment in complete confusion, and then the words were vomiting out of me in one long, breathless, panicked plea. "Please don't make me leave. I'm sorry, Fox. I know you don't love me, but it's okay. I won't fight it anymore. I won't be jealous. Please Walter. You've got him, he loves you. Isn't that enough for you? Don't take him away from me. Please. I need him. Don't...don't do this to me. Please. I know I don't deserve to stay, that neither of you really want me here, but I'll do better, I swear. If you...if you don't *want* me anymore I'll...I'll move into the spare room. You won't know I'm here. I won't...won't get in your way. I just...just want to be here with you. With Fox. With both of you. And...and if you do want me, that's okay too. You can just...just use me if you want, anyway you want. I don't mind. And...and...if you want to hit me Fox, that's okay too. You can both hit me. That's it...see, Fox, you do want me really. You can keep me and do anything you want and...and.... when you have a bad day, I'll be here and you can...can..." 

 

"Alex, ALEX," Fox screamed, shaking my shoulders, desperately trying to stop my hysterical stream of words. 

 

I'm not sure it was the voice screaming in my ear or the shock of finding myself in Fox's arms when I could have sworn he was sitting at the foot of the bed. 

 

"Alex," Walter sobbed, and I flinched as I realised that he too had somehow moved so that he was sitting next to the pillow, tears streaming down his face. 

 

"It was for me, Alex. The suitcase was for me. Do you understand what I'm saying, Alex? The suitcase was for me, not you." 

 

"What?" I asked, my eyes darting between Fox and Walter in complete confusion. 

 

"This is your home, Alex. *Your* home. Neither of us would even dream of making you leave. *I* was going to leave," Walter explained, smiling gently at me to reduce the shock of his words. 

 

"You?" I gasped. It took a moment for it to sink in and then I erupted in fury. "You can't leave," I yelled. "Fox loves you, you bastard. You can't leave him. I'll fucking kill you before I let you leave him." 

 

"Alex, ALEX," Fox interrupted, grabbing my fist before it connected with Walter's jaw. "Walter wasn't walking out on me, on *us*. I asked him to leave." 

 

My mouth opened but nothing emerged except a confused squeak. I turned towards Walter, my eyes pleading. 

 

"He did," he confirmed. "Fox asked me to leave." 

 

"But...but he loves you," I whispered. 

 

"He does," Walter agreed, looking over at Fox with soft eyes, "but he loves you more, Alex, and I love you too and neither of us could bear to hurt you anymore. So he asked me to leave and I agreed." 

 

"I...I don't understand," I whimpered, as the universe as I knew it tilted upside down and threatened to spill me out into space. 

 

"We didn't know what to do, Alex," Fox replied. "We've both been worried sick about you for months. We could see you falling apart but just couldn't figure out what to do for the best." 

 

"When I first moved in," Walter said, "you started to get control of your drinking. You seemed happy at first." 

 

"And you had been unhappy with me for so long that I was sure that Walter moving in was the best thing for both of us," Fox interrupted. 

 

"But then you started to change," Walter continued. "You started to be moody and quiet. Even in bed you stopped showing any interest or initiative. You sulked if Fox and I made love without you but whenever we did involve you were distant and uninterested. We reached a point where it seemed you just lay there and expected to be fucked without even trying to give any affection back." 

 

"Not that I minded," Fox pointed out hurriedly. "I love to touch you, Alex. It was never a chore to make love to you. That's not what we're saying. It's just that...well, when you just lay there like that it made *me* feel bad. Like I was using you. And you never seemed to want to make love to *me*." 

 

"So, we decided the problem was me," Walter said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "As much as you seemed to genuinely enjoy the relationship that you and I shared, I was fully aware that you only let me into your life and your bed, because you believed it was the only way you could keep Fox. It wasn't fair to you, Alex. You never wanted to be in a three-way relationship and it seemed increasingly obvious that you simply couldn't handle being inside one. We could see how hard you were trying to make it work but at the same time it was clear that you were being eaten alive by jealousy." 

 

"I asked Walter to go away for a few days," Fox admitted, his eyes flicking apologetically to Walter's face. "It was the only way I could think of to see whether the problem *was* that you really needed me to yourself. Only...as soon as Walter left everything fell apart." 

 

He reached out and squeezed Walter's had reassuringly before continuing. 

 

"To tell the truth, although I knew I'd miss Walter, I was really looking forward to spending a few days alone with you, Alex. I wanted to see whether the lessons I'd learned from watching the way *he* interacted with you could work when we were alone. I'd come to realise that he'd been right, that it was the way that *I* treated you that had been the problem all along between us. I was...well; I had begun to wonder whether the fact that Walter was so dominant sexually was the reason you never wanted to top any more. I thought you felt too intimidated when he was in bed with us. I was sort of hoping that while he was away you'd come back out of your shell and top *me*. I thought it had worked. You actually came right out and suggested we changed positions. I was so relieved I was speechless but then the moment I touched you, you just rolled over onto your stomach as though you'd completely forgotten you'd even suggested it." 

 

"I..." 

 

"Please don't apologise, Alex. I'm not saying this to make you feel bad, just to try and explain how confused Walter and I have been," Fox interrupted. 

 

"Fox asked me to stay away a few more nights," Walter continued, blushing a little at the admission that his whole so-called work-trip had been a deliberate fabrication. "He thought a weekend alone would finally allow you to re-connect." 

 

"I didn't know what to do," Fox said. "You seemed even more miserable without Walter. You really seemed to be missing him and I began to wonder whether we'd read the situation wrong. Perhaps your moodiness was possibly just the side effect of you trying to deal with some long-standing issues without the crutch of alcohol. You'd been drinking steadily for eighteen months before Walter joined us and had almost immediately gone cold turkey. It made sense that you'd be depressed and confused as you tried to handle the things that had made you want to drink in the first place. So I was desperately trying to think of something we could do together, something that would cheer you up and give you something to look forward to. Hence Walter's birthday surprise." 

 

"Which obviously upset you so much that you had to drown yourself in a bottle," Walter interrupted. "We'll come back to that, but for the moment let's keep things chronological. When I came home you told me that you'd missed me. I thought you'd been unable to cope without me there to control your urge to drink and I felt guilty about lying to you in the first place about *why* I left. That's why I barely punished you for your lapse. I blamed myself for what had happened so I only gave you enough of a spanking to reassure you that I cared enough to punish you. So now I blame myself for that too. I should have gotten to the bottom of what was really troubling you that night. Instead I allowed you to give me a half-hearted excuse and I swept the incident under the carpet." 

 

"What happened last night was my fault," Fox said. "You clearly told me, on numerous occasions, that you didn't want to go to Luigi's. I didn't listen to you. I didn't listen to what you were really trying to say. I just couldn't understand what your problem was. I couldn't believe you'd be spiteful enough to resent me spending some money on Walter after all he's done for us both but since I *knew* you loved him and had obviously missed him when he was away, I couldn't see any other explanation for you being so petty as to refuse to come to the restaurant." 

 

"When you chose to go out and get drunk, instead of celebrating my birthday with us, my first assumption was that you were making a stand," Walter admitted. "I thought you were trying to make a clear distinction between the way you feel about Fox and the way you feel about me. I thought it was your way of making it clear that the relationship that you and I share is not the same as your love for Fox. It hurt me, but it was understandable. It was only when you gave me the watch that I realised there was something seriously inconsistent in your behavior. Then you mentioned that the table had been booked for six weeks and everything seemed to fall into place." 

 

"Walter realised that you didn't get drunk while he was away because you missed him. You got drunk because I suggested we celebrate his birthday," Fox explained. 

 

"I decided the problem *was* jealousy," Walter continued. "You simply couldn't handle the idea that Fox cared about me even enough to want to have a quiet birthday celebration with me. It...well, it made me think that Fox had been right when he'd suggested the trial separation. I left *then* because we were pretty sure you couldn't handle our relationship and I returned because we'd assumed you'd walked out that weekend because I wasn't here. When we both realised the truth, that you'd gotten drunk just because he'd *mentioned* me, it seemed obvious that one of us had to leave." 

 

"So I asked Walter to go," Fox confirmed. 

 

"But why?" I sobbed. "Why Walter?" 

 

"Because I love you, Alex. I admit that if Walter and I had gotten together first there probably never would have been a relationship between you and I, but he didn't. You were first, Alex and so you'll always *be* first for me." 

 

"But you love *him*." 

 

"I do," Fox agreed, squeezing Walter's hand again. "I'll never stop loving him and it would break my heart if he walked out of that door. It would break his heart too. But if I *have* to choose between the two of you, I choose you." 

 

"And you were just going to go?" I demanded, furious now with Walter. "You were going to leave him, leave *me*?" 

 

"I didn't want to, Alex, but yes I would have gone." 

 

"Would have?" I whispered, barely daring to hope. 

 

"Neither of us were listening to you, Alex," Fox admitted ruefully, taking my hand so that it was pressed between his and Walter's. "We didn't understand. We couldn't see the situation through your eyes until Walter accidentally dropped the case at your feet and you became so upset." 

 

"Can you believe that neither of us even *dreamed* that the problem wasn't that you resented Fox loving me too but that you didn't think that he still loved *you*? We thought you couldn't cope with sharing. We never even imagined you'd think that Fox would ever choose me *instead* of you." 

 

"Maybe we were stupid, Alex," Fox interrupted, "But doesn't the fact that we couldn't even imagine *you* thinking it prove that the possibility never existed?" 

 

"But...but..." I couldn't think straight, couldn't believe what I was hearing, didn't *dare* believe what I was hearing. "But I asked you," I blurted. "I asked you if you loved me and you...you said no." 

 

Fox blinked in astonishment. 

 

"I said no? When the hell did I say `No'?" 

 

"When Walter was away," I choked. 

 

His eyes went blank for a moment as he searched his memory. 

 

"You asked me if I loved you," he said slowly, "and I said...I said.... oh, god, Alex. How could I be so fucking stupid?" 

 

"Fox?" Walter queried. 

 

"Alex asked me if I loved him and I replied `What a stupid question'." 

 

"You just meant the answer was obvious, didn't you?" Walter asked. 

 

"Yeah," Fox admitted with an apologetic smile in my direction, "but why the hell didn't I just say `Yes'?" 

 

"Try it now," Walter suggested. 

 

"Alex, I love you," Fox said, then leaned forward and captured my mouth with his. 

 

"More than Walter?" I asked suspiciously, glancing carefully between the two of them. 

 

Fox froze in place, his only movement the frantic darting of his eyes between us and the way his teeth started to gnaw on his lower lip. 

 

"Answer the question, Fox," Walter prompted softly. 

 

Fox exhaled deeply then carefully laced his fingers through mine before replying as though scared I would bolt away. 

 

"No," he admitted, a little fearfully. "I love you both, in different ways. It's impossible to quantify the love I feel for you. You both fill different needs in me. I don't want to contemplate life without either of you." 

 

I nodded thoughtfully. 

 

"So why did you ask *Walter* to leave?" 

 

"Honestly?" he asked, his hazel eyes searching mine carefully. 

 

I nodded again and something in my expression must have reassured him that I was finally ready to hear the full truth. 

 

"Because Walter and I both love you, Alex, and out of the three of us you're the least likely to survive alone. So we've decided that if this doesn't work out between the three of us, then you and I stay together or you and Walter do if that's what you prefer. Whatever happens, you will *never* be the one left out in the cold. You've suffered enough, Alex. You spent years on the outside, battling just to survive, never knowing what it was like to be loved. You were like something wild and untamed and maybe you could have lived like that forever. But you're not like that anymore and between the two of us we're going to ensure that you never regret trusting us enough to let us into your heart." 

 

I nodded. I didn't like it, didn't like the fact that they both could clearly see how vulnerable I had become, but was honest enough to admit it. It was true. I was now a domesticated rat and I no longer had the ability to return to the wild. 

 

Still, none of the above, as wonderful and unbelievable as it had all sounded, answered the *real* question. 

 

"Why did you want to celebrate Walter's birthday?" 

 

"Because it was a special occasion," Fox replied, a little confused. 

 

"Obviously," I muttered miserably. 

 

It didn't matter what Fox *said*. As the saying went, actions speak louder than words. He could swear he loved me best until his throat wore out but, no matter how much I wanted to believe him, it wasn't true. I didn't know whether he was trying to fool me or himself and, to be honest, I was too damned relieved they were both going to let me stay to make an issue of it. Still, it hurt. It hurt so much that I had to get out of the bed and put a little distance between us. 

 

"What's wrong now, Alex?" Fox asked, his eyes swimming with fresh tears as I backed away from the bed and wrapped my arm around my stomach to hug my misery inside. 

 

I shook my head, too scared to answer. I just needed a little space, a little time to rebuild my defences. If the price of staying were to swallow my hurt inside and pretend to be happy, then I'd pay it willingly. Only I needed a few minutes to compose myself, to rehearse the role and get a suitable mask in place over my face. 

 

Fox opened his mouth again, obviously intending to force the issue but, before he could speak, Walter suddenly surged to his feet and looked carefully between us, at the confused hurt on Fox's face and the dull hopeless expression on mine. 

Walter frowned and I cringed, understanding that I was blowing everything again. That he was furious at my ingratitude, at my inability to accept Fox's white flag without question. 

 

Except when he spoke, although his tone *was* angry, his words were directed at Fox rather than me. 

 

"Fox? Do you want to explain what's going on here now?" 

 

Fox winced slightly at Walter's tone. 

 

"Me?" he asked, clearly nervous. "What did I do now?" 

 

Walter looked at me before replying, his expression unexpectedly soft. 

 

"I think it's more a question of what you *didn't* do, Fox," he replied, raising an eyebrow at me questioningly. "Where did you take Alex on *his* birthday?" 

 

"What are..."? Fox began incredulously, and then his mouth abruptly snapped shut. The look of guilty understanding on Fox's face would have been comical if I hadn't suddenly felt so near to tears. 

 

"I...um..." he mumbled. 

 

"Fox doesn't *do* birthdays," I snarled, six weeks of miserable jealousy finally escaping with my bitter words. 

 

Click, click, click...I could see the gears grinding behind Walter's eyes as the final pieces of the puzzle fell into place and I wanted to cry because *he* understood, *he* cared...maybe subconsciously I'd always been deliberately manipulating the situation so that Fox and I only faced this particular conversation in front of Walter. 

 

Which seemed slightly cowardly, when I thought about it, so I flushed and attempted to back out of the room. 

 

"Alex, heel," he snapped, like I was his fucking pet dog. 

 

Maybe I was, because I stumbled forward and dropped to my knees in front of him before my mind even registered my body's obedience. 

 

"Why did you keep this inside you, Alex? Why the hell didn't you give Fox a chance to explain himself?" 

 

It was Fox who answered, and maybe that's what Walter had intended because I heard him exhale a soft breath of relief as Fox began to speak and he pressed my head down until it was cushioned on his thigh while he carded his fingers gently through my hair. 

 

"Because he thought it *proved* I didn't love him," Fox said, his words sad and thoughtful. "It was the first thing he said to me, Walter. As soon as I mentioned Luigi's, he said `you don't do birthdays' but I didn't listen to him. I didn't hear what he was trying to say. It's so fucking obvious now I could hit myself for being so damned insensitive." 

 

He moved towards us as he spoke, sinking to carpet on the other side of Walter's knees so that our faces were level. 

 

"I didn't think, Alex. That's all. It wasn't deliberate. I can see how it must have hurt you. There I was, saying Walter's birthday was a special occasion, and it never even occurred to me that it must have looked like I was just confirming that *your* birthday had never been important to me. It must have been like a slap in the face to you." 

 

"Alex already feared you loved me more," Walter agreed. "He thought his fears were proven right by the fact you decided to celebrate my birthday, when you'd always ignored *his*." 

 

"That's why you got drunk," Fox muttered, his face twisting with self-loathing. "Because I hurt you so badly that you had no option except to try and hide from the pain." 

 

I nodded miserably and then rubbed my face against Walter's pant leg, using the fabric to mop at the humiliating liquid that was leaking from my eyes. 

 

"He had another option," Walter rumbled, his fingers detaching from my hair and moving to force my chin up so that I had to look at him as he spoke. "He could have talked to you about it. He *should* have. Shouldn't you, Alex?" 

 

I nodded helplessly although my eyes begged him to understand why I hadn't. 

 

"I know," he replied softly. "You were sure that if you confronted Fox that he'd admit the truth and confirm your fear that he didn't love you. But you were wrong, weren't you? Fox *does* love you. So in not speaking out, in burying all that fear inside you, all you did was hurt yourself." 

 

"Yeah," I finally admitted, as the pieces fell into place for me too. Walter was right. I *should* have confronted Mulder instead of grabbing my coat and drowning myself in a bottle. I should have said the words *then* but maybe it wasn't too late. 

 

"Fox? Why haven't you ever asked me when *my* birthday is?" 

 

He slid over, so that our sides were pressed together and took my hand in his. 

"Because, I don't *do* birthdays," he started, with a rueful grin, squeezing my fingers tightly when I tried to pull them back at the apparent sarcasm of his words. "I never even considered doing anything about Walter's birthday, since he knows me well enough to know how I feel about that kind of thing. I honestly just came up with the idea on the spur of the moment as a way of cheering *you* up and then, when you were so negative about the idea, my stupid pride took over. You know what I'm like, Alex. Anyone telling me I *can't* do something is like waving a red flag at a bull." 

 

"Yeah," I agreed, with a reluctant grin, and the darkness that had been coiled in my guts for weeks finally began to unravel and dissipate, dissolved by the touch of his fingers and the soft, genuine apology in his eyes. 

 

He loved me. 

 

Maybe our definitions of love would never be quite the same. Maybe we'd never understand each other not to fight constantly. Maybe neither of us would ever have enough self-confidence in our own worth to truly believe another person could possibly love us unequivocally. Yet, it didn't matter. He loved me, I loved him and Walter would always be there to remind us of the fact when we forgot. 

 

"Forgive me?" he whispered hopefully. 

 

I looked at him thoughtfully, risked a cautious look at Walter who was staring down at us both with obvious approval, then nodded. 

 

"On one condition," I added quickly, when Fox breathed an obviously heartfelt sigh of relief. 

 

His hazel eyes widened in alarm, but he nodded without hesitation. 

 

I moved back until I could see *both* of their faces clearly. 

 

"From now on," I announced carefully, watching them both as they waited expectantly, "I want to be in the middle." 

 

A huge grin spread over Walter's face and his eyes sparkled with amusement. Fox looked momentarily miserable, but then he slowly dropped his eyes in agreement. 

I knew it was too easy and I was right. A moment later he looked up again, his eyes as miserable as a whipped puppy's. He chewed his lower lip hesitantly before cautiously asking, "Does that mean *always*?" 

 

Walter stifled a chuckle but left us to work it out between us. 

 

"It depends," I eventually replied, pretending to give the matter some thought. 

 

"On what?" Fox asked, a little too eagerly. 

 

"You said you'd agree to my condition," I started; proud of myself for the Walter-like subtlety of the argument I was putting forward. "And you *did* agree, but already you're trying to renege on the deal." 

 

"Not renege," Fox denied quickly, "just clarify exactly what I'm agreeing to." 

 

"What you've *already* agreed to," I pointed out. 

 

He looked miserable but agreed. 

 

"So if you want to change the deal *now* you have to pay a penalty," I told him solemnly. 

 

His eyes flared with alarm and his right hand unconsciously moved to protect his ass. Walter snorted and I flashed him a warning look. 

 

"Sorry," he mumbled, trying to control his grin. "Carry on, Alex. You're doing fine." 

 

I struggled with my own expression, hiding my own amusement behind a grim mask. 

"So I'll agree that you can be in the middle *sometimes* if you agree to another condition," I told Mulder. 

 

"What condition?" he asked, having learnt his lesson about agreeing *before* I stated my terms. 

 

"From now on..." I began portentously, then lost control of my expression and gave both of them a triumphant shit-eating grin. "From now on, we *all* do birthdays." 

 

Walter roared with laughter as Fox blinked in obvious disbelief. 

 

"That's it?" he whispered. "That's all you want, Alex? It's that important to you?" 

 

"Yeah," I muttered. It was. It was what families did. It was what *lovers* did. I might not have had much experience of being loved before but now I wanted it all. I needed it all. The whole nine yards. The birthdays and Christmases. The picket fences and the pet dog. I wanted a family. I wanted to belong. I wanted to be *loved*. 

 

"I want it all," I whispered, a little helplessly, my eyes beseeching him to understand. 

 

And he did. 

 

"Yes," he agreed. "Absolutely yes, without conditions. Whether you let me be in the middle or not, I swear that from now on every birthday, Christmas, Easter, New Year, hell *anything*, will get celebrated in our home. *Our* home, Alex. Yours, mine and Walter's." 

 

"I love you," I told him simply, then turned my face to Walter's. "I love you both." 

 

"And we love you too, Alex," Walter replied, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears as he pulled both of us to our feet and onto his lap. 

 

It was a little of an undignified scramble as two fully grown men piled into his lap, elbows and knees flying, and he grunted for breath as our weight descended on him but he was laughing, and so were we, and for the first time in months I wasn't scared, or lonely or jealous or sad. I was in the arms of the two men I loved and I finally believed they loved me too. 

 

Walter tipped back on the bed so that we sprawled on top of him, and there was a momentary wild wrestle for position as we all rolled and kissed and embraced in a crazy, passionate reaffirmation of our relationship. With each touch and kiss and hug, with each lick and bite and stroke, we reminded each other why *none* of us wanted to leave. 

 

In the frantic removal of clothes no words were spoken. There was no need. We just flowed together like pieces of a puzzle, each of us naturally sliding into place. 

 

Guess what? 

 

Fox ended up in the middle. Maybe it's just a law of physics after all. 

 

In that slow, lazy haze that descended on us as we finally sprawled sated and happy on our immense bed, as Fox lay between us with my hand and Walter's interlinked over his heaving chest, as our sweat and semen puddled around our exhausted bodies in affirmation of our love, a sense of complete and utter peace descended on me. 

 

This *was* how we were meant to be. 

 

A trinity. 

 

A family. 

 

"Alex?" Fox whispered, his voice barely louder than the rhythmic slowing beat of our three heats. 

 

"Yeah?" 

 

"When exactly *is* your birthday?" 

 

The End


End file.
